The Journey

Chapter 3: The Soldier

15th November 1968

Dear Diary,

I go back to the village to refill my food supply, realising I was not careful enough yesterday and consumed more food then necessary. I realise now that it may be days at a time before I next find food so need to learn to be less wasteful and only eat or drink when I require.

After exploring the village remains for awhile, pausing once at the girl and her father's grave, I find a large underground pantry filled with crops and meats. Everywhere I look there are juicy vegetables: carrots, peas, corn, cauliflower, broccoli. Fruits: grapes, apples, oranges, pears. Along with a whole cupboard full of meats: fish, chicken, pork, beef, goose. I feel like I am in heaven. My mouth waters and my stomach gurgles. Even after a good harvest I have never seen this much food in one place. I find a bag and pack as much as I can. Then I find a ladder and add butter, cheese, milk, biscuits and crackers; a long with salt for flavourings and as a preservative. Nearby, I find an enormous lump of clay, some dried sticks and twigs and a box of matches. I also see a water pump and some caskets of ale in one corner of the room so decide to try and craft some pots to contain the liquids.

As I light a fire with the dried sticks and matches, sparks like fireflies float up in the blue smoke. I cough as the smoke fills the room and makes my eyes water but shrug it off and start my work, squatting beside the flames. I have until the fire dies to craft some suitable pots to take with me. I pull off a large lump of clay, add a splash of water and start to mould it in my hands. After a while, it starts to look vaguely like a jar and hold it over the fire to heat up but it instantly crumbles to my disappointment.

I craft several pots all of which crumble. They look as though they are working, slowly glowing red but in the end they all turn out the same. I slave away for hours making pot after pot. Until finally, when my fire is almost out, I figure out what I am doing wrong. I realise the heat from the fire must be too great and is cracking the clay pots so I construct a temporary stand to place the pots on to warm up but not enough to shatter.

After constructing several more pots of different sizes from the remaining clay, I place them on the stand and wait to see what happens. To my relief they glow red but don't crack and I carefully stand them in a line on the hearth next to me to cool down. I declare them go be cool enough after a few moments and examine one carefully. I must admit it's not the prettiest of jars but its practical and that's all that counts. I bet with some practise I could improve them greatly and if I crushed up some berries could paint them. This thought makes me feel very proud and somehow reminds me of home.

I realise I have made 15 jars in total and start to look around for possible fluids to fill them with and eventually, after much deliberation over how much of each I would need, when I might next come across some or whether it is something I could make myself. In the end I fill eight of the jars with water from a pump nearby; another with a strong whiskey; two with wine; and the remaining four with fresh juice- two apple, an orange and some pineapple juice. I decided I would need water the most but wanted a few others for various purposes .e.g. Whiskey could be used to disinfect a cut, the wine would last longer and the fresh juices would be more refreshing.

I look over my bounty, nodding approvingly and when I decide it is sufficient, not after finding a bar of dark chocolate and some cocoa beans and wrapping them in palm leaves. I throw the sack over my shoulder, it being heavier than I expected but not too heavy. I stroll merrily up the stone steps and out of the pantry, squinting at the blinding sunlight. Even though it is evening, I can tell from the suns positions in the sky, she still shines brightly letting me know its not night yet. I suddenly remember where I am, too caught up in my stash and the time to realise at first. I blink trying to get the picture before me into focus. Blue smoke chokes the air, rising slowly; lingering. Fresh craters fill my path. I with heavily and begin walking. I don't care where as long as it takes me away from here.